


Vignettes : Steve, Bucky, and Neal

by bennettmp339



Series: Of tattoos and fedoras [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), White Collar
Genre: Blood, Condoms And Lube, Don’t copy to another site, Espresso Machines, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff and Angst, Headaches & Migraines, M/M, Multi, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Polyamory, Vomiting, established crossover pairing, minor character injury, safe sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-20
Updated: 2019-03-17
Packaged: 2019-09-23 06:59:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17075564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bennettmp339/pseuds/bennettmp339
Summary: A collection of vignettes featuring Steve, Bucky, and Neal. All take place between the end ofOnly In Your Bloodand the epilogue. It will be very helpful to read that first. Please heed the tags fromOnly In Your Blood, as things in these vignettes will reference the things that happened to Neal, Bucky, and Steve, during that story, though the vignettes should be rather fluffy overall. Individual vignettes may feature additional warnings.





	1. Vignette 1 - Neal paints shirtless [rated Explicit]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Neal paint shirtless. Steve watches.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This takes places about 1 month from the end of _Only In Your Blood_ , and the events of The Warehouse are mentioned.

Not even a day after they’d gotten Neal’s drafting table and his motorized sit/stand desk set up in the bedroom he’d decided had the best natural light for painting and sketching, Neal set up his easel and started on a painting, sketching the broad outlines of what Steve thought might have been a van Gogh. Once he finished his sketch, he brushed past Steve and headed into the master bedroom, where Steve heard him digging around in the dresser in the closet he’d claimed. 

He returned in only a pair of paint-splattered burgundy lounge pants, which sat very low on his hips, almost threatening to fall off, low enough that Steve was sure that he wasn’t wearing any underwear. He grinned at Steve and winked as he picked up his palette and started mixing paints. For as fastidious as he was with his clothing and personal appearance, his art supplies showed signs of heavy and repeated use, especially his paints and paint brushes. 

Neal started painting his canvas with lots of blues, greens, and yellows, the art soon taking shape as The Starry Night. Steve watched as he painted, though Neal quickly lost himself in painting, his mind calming and the stress of moving in with Steve and Bucky slowly melting away with each brushstroke against canvas. He never quite forgot that Steve was there, but being watched while painting didn’t bother him. He had just put the finished touches on the painting, and was in the process of putting his supplies down to clean the wet paint off of his hands when Steve grabbed him and pulled him into a searing kiss. 

Neal made a ‘mffp’ing sound of protest, dropping his brushes with a clatter and melting into Steve’s embrace. Steve ran his hands along Neal’s lithe form, pulling him tightly against him. He felt Neal run his hands through his hair as they desperately made out, grinding against each other. Neal made a soft noise of wanting into Steve’s mouth, and deepened their kiss, letting Steve turn him and walk him backwards towards their bedroom. 

Since The Warehouse, Neal had seemed hesitant to do more than make out with Steve, still reeling from the emotional whiplash he’d been on the receiving end of after having been kidnapped and experimented on by HYDRA. He’d discussed all of this with both his S.H.I.E.L.D.-issued therapist (that was a non-negotiable from both Steve and Bucky, who knew that Neal needed someone he could talk to about what had happened to him, both at The Warehouse and after, in his Manhattan apartment) and the doctor he’d seen for _daily_ blood draws during that first week post The Warehouse, and was slowly improving, re-learning how to trust. 

So, when Neal moaned into Steve’s mouth and sighed as Steve walked him backwards to their bedroom, Steve felt honored. Neal was pliant, yet reactive, under him as Steve ran his hands all over Neal’s body. He gripped Neal’s ass, and they frotted against each other as they made out, Neal whimpering into Steve’s mouth. 

It didn’t take long before Steve slid his hands up Neal’s bare chest and ran his thumbs over Neal’s surprising sensitive nipples, feeling as Neal thrust against him and pulled his lips away from his mouth long enough to kiss Steve’s collarbone. Neal’s hands slid into the back pockets of Steve’s jeans, cupping his ass, so Steve awkwardly unbuttoned his jeans and pulled himself out of his jeans as he pushed, lightly, sending Neal sprawling onto the bed. With a grin, Steve pulled a bottle of lube from the bedside table, before falling on top of him, his knees bracketing Neal’s on the bed. He cupped Neal’s face with his hands, and kissed him desperately, as though he was attempting to devour him. Neal whimpered helplessly, fingers tangled in Steve’s hair, pulling slightly. They jumped as Bucky opened the door, Steve turning to see his other lover. 

“No need to stop on my account,” Bucky said, making no move to hide that he was watching with interest, though he made no move to join them. He wandered into their shared closet, eyes still on them, and pulled out a new shirt, sliding his left arm into the long sleeves as he changed quickly, allowing himself some slight cover. Steve returned his attentions to Neal’s mouth, noting that he was looking a little overwhelmed. 

“You okay with this?” Steve asked, pulling away and resting his weight on his heels as Neal nodded enthusiastically. The movement gave Neal more room and showed Bucky that Neal was wearing his burgundy lounge pants. There was a clear damp spot on the front, directly over the not-inconsiderable bulge that was Neal’s rock-hard dick. Bucky smirked slightly as he leaned over to ravish Steve’s mouth, before kissing Neal the same way. 

“I’ve got an event for Stark I have to go to. Something about veterans. Last minute thing. He’s sending a car. I’ll be back by 11, I hope.” Bucky kissed Neal again, before winking and adding, “don’t wait up.” He pressed a kiss to the top of Steve’s head, ran his fingers through his hair, absentmindedly running his fingers along Neal’s, and was out of the room as fast as he’d come, if dressed a little bit more nicely. Neal groaned slightly, relaxing into the covers, his eyes no longer burning with lust. He was still rock hard in his pants as he gazed up at Steve. 

“That was awkward,” he said, sliding his hands from Steve’s hair and down his shoulders. He slid his hands down Steve’s sides, unbuttoned his shirt, and pulled it off, leaving Steve in his undershirt. “Now, pants, shirt, off.” He fingered the hem of Steve’s shirt and teasingly ran his fingers along the sensitive skin of Steve’s stomach. Steve hopped off the bed to drop his jeans and underwear, tossing his shirt across the room. A pair of burgundy lounge pants flew past his head as he stumbled out of his jeans, shirt over his head, signalling that Neal was naked in the bed. He heard the nightstand draw creak, and turned back in time to see Neal pull a condom from the drawer and hold it in left hand with the open packet of lube. His right hand was disappearing between his spread legs. There was a streak of dried blue paint on his right forearm and it was distracting as Neal fingered himself open. 

Steve slid back onto the bed, dropping between Neal’s spread legs. He pressed his lips to the sensitive inside of Neal’s thigh, sucking the beginnings of a love bite against the soft skin. Neal whimpered and thrust slightly, as if attempting to encourage Steve to suck his dick. Steve smirked against Neal’s thigh and pulled the lube and condom from his hand, rolled the condom down his own dick, before slicking up his fingers and sliding two long and callused fingers into Neal. Neal sighed, thrusting against Steve to encourage him to give him more. He keened when Steve crooked them at the right spot. 

“I won’t break, Steve,” Neal groused a few minutes later, when Steve, oh so carefully, added a third finger. When Steve didn’t seem to be interested in speeding up the process, Neal flipped them and used Steve’s shock to sink down on his dick. They both moaned loudly, though Steve seemed more shocked. He gripped Neal’s hips to keep him from moving, and asked if Dr. Banner was sure that the serum hadn’t been activated. Neal groaned in frustration, batting at Steve’s hands.

“You have your dick up my ass and you want to talk about Dr. Banner and the serum?” Neal huffed a breath out, and squeezed down on Steve’s dick before continuing, “no, the serum wasn’t activated. During my past life as a con man, thief, and forger, I was known for pulling lots of thefts with wildly acrobatic stunts. You heard about the swan dive onto the balcony of the bakery? From the only witness? That was nothing compared to some of the stunts I pulled.” He squeezed down on Steve’s dick again and continued, “do you want to fuck me or should I go take care of myself?” 

Steve still looked a bit mutinous, but he relaxed his grip on Neal’s hips and gave a gentle thrust. Neal smirked, and proceeded to ride Steve hard and fast. Soon, they were gasping and moaning, Steve holding onto Neal’s hip with one hand and fisting the sheets with the other. It didn’t take long for Steve to come with a sigh, his hips stuttering as he did. Neal took the hand that was gripping his hip and wrapped it around his dick. Steve ran his fingers along the sensitive head, enjoying how Neal thrust harder into his hand and ground down on his dick. Soon, he was coming all over Steve’s hand, his head thrown back with a drawn-out, pleasure-filled moan, as Steve rocked them both through the aftershocks. 

Neal slumped, though he didn’t make a move to slide off of Steve. They stayed like that for a few moments, rocking gently together without intent, before Steve made a face and said something that sounded a bit like “condom.” Neal groaned as he pulled off Steve and rolled onto his back. He watched as Steve disposed of the condom and pulled another one out, holding it up with a questioning look on his face. Neal nodded, spreading his legs in a not-so-subtle invitation. Steve rolled the second condom on and slid onto the bed. Neal wrapped his legs around Steve’s waist as he sunk back into Neal, who moaned and squeezed Steve’s dick. 

“It may be weird, but it’s _almost_ better the second time,” he murmured. “Everything’s been heightened. Feels so good, so sensitive, so good.” Steve took that as encouragement and fucked Neal with sure and steady, yet gentle, strokes. He ran a hand along Neal’s body, playing with his nipples and pressing kisses to his neck and collarbone. Neal returned the attention, running his hands where ever he could get them. After a bit, Neal made a soft sound, and wrapped his hand around his dick, stroking his hard dick and moaning. It only took a few strokes for Neal to come with a moan, and Steve fucked him through it before coming himself. Neal flopped down on the covers and let Steve pull out with only the slightest sigh. 

He watched as Steve disposed of the condom and grabbed a damp washcloth, gently cleaning them both up. As he threw the washcloth back into the bathroom, Neal worked his way under the covers and grabbed at Steve’s hand. “Nap time,” he said imperiously. 

Steve laughed and let himself be pulled under the covers, and into Neal’s embrace. Neal was a snuggler, and made a contented sound against Steve’s side. Steve wrapped his arms around him, and they drifted off to an easy sleep.


	2. Vignette 2 - Neal gets a migraine at White Collar [rated G]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Neal gets a migraine while working at White Collar. Peter and Jones help him until Steve gets there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This takes place about two months after the events of _Only In Your Blood_. 
> 
> Neal vomits in this chapter.

The case had required Neal’s expertise, so Peter called him in. When he consulted with the task force, it was usually like old times - Neal sitting at the far end of the table from Peter at the head, throwing that rubber band ball around or generally making a nuisance out of himself, eyes innocent and smile wide. This time, though, he’d slunk into the bullpen, sunglasses on and hat pulled low, covering his eyes. He was paler than usual, winced his way through the briefing, and moved as though he was in pain. He didn’t say anything and brushed off questions about how he was feeling, but seemed grateful that he could sit at what used to be his desk while they were getting everything set up for their sting. If everything went well, they’d be slapping the cuffs on a very bad white collar criminal by the end of the next day. Peter motioned to Jones to keep an eye on Neal, since he had to be in the set up meetings and Jones was going to be researching the specifics of the legality of the sting before it was sent out for a warrant.

Jones spared a glance at Neal, who was slouched in his chair, bent almost double over his paperwork. He chuckled, remembering just how much Neal always complained about paperwork, though he didn’t seem bothered by it today. When Neal stood and walked very slowly and deliberately over to the breakroom Jones wandered over to his desk, and saw that he was filling out the paperwork on his last consultation. That one had gone to hell, and ended with Neal learning the hard way that healing tattoos and elbows to the ribs were not a good combination. He’d whimpered as he’d collapsed, clutching at his ribs and his skin paling to the point of almost having a greenish tinge, and was of no use to the agents who had swarmed in and arrested everyone. Because of how he’d reacted to what was nominally a minor hit, they’d been worried that he’d been stabbed or had broken ribs, so they had the paramedics check him out, which was when they saw the healing tattoo on his ribs. He’d been fine after two ice packs and a double dose of anti-inflammatories, but they’d been convinced he was gonna either puke on them or pass out before the medication kicked in.

Neal walked slowly back from the breakroom as Jones was returning to his seat, his face white as a sheet and his expression pinched. He’d untied his tie and unbuttoned the first button of his dress shirt, which was something he never did, no matter how late it was or how tired he was. He was also holding one of the FBI mugs, and his right hand seemed to shaking slightly. No one who’d been working with the FBI before his commutation was unaware of how much he hated the breakroom coffee, preferring to get it from the fancy café down the block or to make himself tea. Jones wasn’t sure if he had been gone long enough to heat up water for tea, or if he even had the stamina to stand for that long without support. 

After a few sips of his presumably, and admittedly, awful breakroom coffee, Neal winced, pressed his hand to his stomach, and went through his desk drawers. He pulled a few things out, studied them, tossed something in the trash can under his desk and the rest in the drawer, before returning his attention to his paperwork. He wrote something, before closing his eyes and breathing deeply. Jones gave up any pretense of not watching him, until Neal opened his eyes and took another sip or two of his coffee. Less than a minute later, though he was standing up and heading for the bathroom, holding his phone awkwardly in his hand. Jones headed over to his desk, and checked what he’d thrown away. It was an empty box of some sort of headache medication, one that said it was fast acting and easy on the stomach. Neal still hadn’t come back from the bathroom when Peter wandered out of the meeting and looked down into the bullpen for him.

“I think he’s sick, boss,” Jones said once Peter joined him, standing next to Neal’s desk. “Looks like a pretty bad headache, if this medication is an indication. Not sure if he had any, though, since he tossed this in the trash and I didn’t see him take anything. Anyone else, I’d say they were just hungover, but Neal? Has he ever come into work hungover? Except for when he and Mozzie were forging that whiskey? I’m surprised he was _functional _the next day, to be honest.”__

__“You’re right, I can’t think of a time he came into work hungover, unless it was for a case or he was undercover the night before.” Peter took the box from Jones, glancing at it. “He’s taken these before, in the van or during stakeouts; the doses of two pills come individually wrapped. I’ve asked him about it once or twice; he always said he had a headache and that this stuff works the best.”_ _

__“I’m gonna go check the bathroom, make sure he didn’t pass out or anything.” Jones wandered back over to his desk and picked up his refillable water bottle before heading to the bathrooms. No one had entered after Neal, so Jones was sure that he was alone. He wandered in, holding his water bottle under one arm, and heard painful-sounding retching just he noticed that the main lights were off. The backup lights were still on, but the main fluorescents were off._ _

__He flicked the lights on and heard Neal make a sound of incredible pain even as he retched again. Neal was crumpled over the toilet in one of the stalls, and looked _miserable_ , his face pale and sweaty. After a moment, he slumped against the wall, and pressed the back of his right hand to his mouth. He squinted up at Jones, who looked at him with sympathy. _ _

__“Think you can move somewhere more comfortable?” Jones asked, remembering to keep his voice down as he crouched next to the consultant. Neal shook his head, barely moving it._ _

__“Can’t.” His voice was a hoarse whisper. “I can’t stand without puking.” A ghost of his smile returned, though his eyes were still closed. “I’ve been trying to call Steve, but the screen… I’m too light-sensitive at the moment.” Neal handed his phone to Jones, and murmured his lock code, his hand pressed back against his mouth and eyes tightly closed as Jones selected the number from his contacts._ _

__Jones had seen Steve a few months earlier during the incident where they’d been sent been sent to London by Tony Stark. He still wasn’t sure why Tony Stark had been able to request the FBI go after Matthew Keller in London - instead of letting INTERPOL or New Scotland Yard find and arrest him - but he had and they had found and arrested Matthew Keller only to learn that both Neal and someone named “Bucky” had been kidnapped. The precise details were still a mystery - Neal wouldn’t talk about what happened to him or why a grown man would willingly let people call him _Bucky_ \- but they had learned that Neal was in some sort of relationship with Steve Rogers, formerly of the NYPD. Jones had met Detective Rogers during a few cases with the NYPD. He wasn’t sure how this “Bucky” was involved, though he’d heard Neal speak to him on the phone during a few stakeouts that went too long or that one time he’d been injured on a case. A minor sprain, but still, injured on a case. _ _

__It was with some amount of trepidation that Jones called Steve, even as Neal hunched back over the toilet with a wretched sounding groan and heaved a few times. He pressed his hand against Neal’s back, rubbing his shoulders as soothingly as he could, and kept his voice low as he conversed with Steve, who was clearly worried about Neal. He asked Neal a few questions for Steve, being careful to keep his voice down, and learned that Neal had run out of his prefered medication. Steve would bring some to him, and take him back to Brooklyn. Neal ask him to remind Steve that he couldn’t ride on the bike with him, not with how he felt. Jones decided that he’d ask about the bike later, but made sure that Neal knew that Bucky would drive over to pick him up. Steve would get there first, on the Subway._ _

__After hanging up with Steve (Neal had gagged when he’d tried to listen to Steve over the phone), Jones muted his mobile phone and called Peter, keeping rubbing soothing circles on Neal’s back as he heaved. He told Peter that Steve was pretty sure Neal was suffering from a migraine, and was photosensitive. Steve wanted them to try to get him to drink some of the ginger herbal tea that he kept in his desk, and that Steve also wanted them to try to convince Neal to move to a darker room, one with less sensory input than the men’s room._ _

__Peter came by a few minutes later, carrying a trash can and letting them both know that there was a steaming cup of the tea Neal sometimes drank in Agent Martin’s office. “He’s still in London, so his office is nice and cool. I’ve pulled down the window shades, so it shouldn’t be too bright. And he’s got a sofa, tucked up against the back wall. That sound better to you?” Neal, slumped against the wall again, nodded slightly._ _

__“I’ve tried, but I can’t stand without puking.” He made to attempt to stand, instead closing his eyes and pressing his hand over them._ _

__“Is the room spinning?” Jones asked. Neal nodded slightly._ _

__“Sorta? It’s moving like I’m on a rollercoaster. Not a fun rollercoaster, either.” He paused, hand still covering his eyes, “even if you get me standing, I’m not going to be able to walk to Agent Martin’s office. My knees are too weak and my inner ear gets really messed up when it gets this bad.”_ _

__“How bad?” Peter asked, motioning to Jones to support Neal as he wrapped one of Neal’s arms around his shoulders, and went to stand. Neal waved his hand around aimlessly, eventually landing it on Peter’s shoulder._ _

__“You remember that case where you and Jones had to help me down all those stairs after I got drunk under the table by a mark?” Neal’s voice wavered as they got him upright and he pressed the hand not wrapped around Peter’s shoulder to his mouth as he inhaled slowly, before nodding. “That’s pretty close.” He pressed his face into Peter’s shoulder, not doing anything to support himself as Jones got an arm around his waist. The two of them got him fully standing and slowly walked with him to Agent Martin’s office._ _

__Once they got there, Peter installed Neal on the couch and helped him take a few sips of his tea. It didn’t take long before he started to look better, a little less green. His eyes were still pinched and it was clear that he was clearly still in the grips of the migraine, but he didn’t seem to need to puke any more._ _

__“You feeling any better?” Peter asked, as soon as Jones said he was going to go down to the lobby to wait for Steve to arrive. Neal nodded._ _

__“My head is killing me and the room is still spinny, but my stomach isn’t rebelling as much as it was, so that’s a win.” He took another sip of the tea and noticed Peter’s questioning gaze. “Ginger. It’s an anti-emetic. This tea has gotten me through some of my alleged heists and more than one stakeout in the van.” He took another sip of his tea, missing Peter making a mental note to ask him about the migraines once he was feeling better._ _

__A few minutes later, Jones escorted Steve Rogers into the room. Steve’s blue shirt was rumbled and had what looked like green paint splattered on it. He rushed to Neal’s side and settled into the couch, gently pulling Neal to lie down with his head in his lap. He ran his hands through Neal’s hair, and murmured to him. Jones and Peter caught some of Neal’s replies, though they weren’t sure what Steve meant by some of the medications he was mentioning. Neal took a few sips of his tea, careful not to spill it on Steve from his reclined position._ _

__After a few moments, Steve pulled something from his pocket and handed it to Peter. He pressed his hands against Neal’s head and neck and slowly helped him regain his previous vertical position. Neal’s shoulders hunched and he blanched but he didn’t reach for the trash can. Steve shifted them around until Neal was sitting how he wanted him, and took the thing back from Peter._ _

__“That looks like an autoinjector,” Peter said. “I don’t recognize the medicine, though.”_ _

__“It’s something Stark Industries is working on for migraine sufferers who don’t respond well to the already available medications.” Steve fussed with the small plastic container, his large hands carefully pulling out the sealed hypodermic needle and doing whatever else he needed to do to make it work. Once he’d set it up, he pressed the injector to Neal’s thigh and triggered it. Neal winced and his breath hitched, but he otherwise didn’t react._ _

__“Thank you for… …all of this,” Neal said after a few moments, his voice a little raspy. “I’ll be ready to get back to work once the medication kicks in. It makes me feel weird at first.” He pressed his face into Steve’s shoulder, and missed how Peter reacted._ _

__“Neal, you don’t have to go back to work,” he said. “I was planning on sending you home once I found out how sick you were. Once you’re feeling better, we’ll talk about this in more detail, but you have to let me know about stuff like this, okay?” Neal, his face still pressed up against Steve’s shoulder, nodded._ _

__“Thank you,” he said, his voice muffled. “I’ll be fine in a minute, the meds make me feel weird,” he repeated. A minute or so later, he sat up on his own accord, and slowly got to his feet. His face was still pale and his expression was a little pinched, but he looked as though he was feeling a lot better._ _

__“Jones went and got your stuff when he collected me,” Steve said, handing Neal his hat and sunglasses, “so we can head down to Bucky whenever you’re ready.”_ _

__“I’m ready.” Neal pulled his hat on, lower than usual, and thanked Peter and Jones for their help as they walked to the elevators. “And for letting me leave early. I always feel better when I can sleep off the medication. I promise to meet with you, Peter, about the migraines and the medications, but after the op tomorrow? I’ll be on my game by then.”_ _

__“That works for me,” Peter agreed. “I’ll forward you everything you need for tomorrow and you can read it over once you feel better. Diana said that the warrant request came through, so we’re good to go on that end.”_ _

__“Perfect.” Neal took Steve’s arm as they stepped onto the elevator. “Thank you, again, Peter,” he said as the doors closed, leaving Peter and Jones to stare at each other. Peter turned to Jones._ _

__“Make sure that Diana knows about Neal’s migraines, but be quiet about it,” he said. “If anyone besides Hughes asks, just tell them that Neal had to go home sick.” Jones nodded and wandered over to Diana’s desk._ _

__At the main entrance to the building, Neal let Steve put him into the backseat of Bucky’s sedan, and curled up against him when he got in. He relaxed as Steve ran his fingers through hair, sighing softly._ _


	3. Vignette 3 - Neal hires Scott Lang [rated T]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The job offer was out of Neal’s mouth before he’d gotten the man’s name."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A character injures themselves trying to make an espresso machine work. There is some blood, and he does end up seeing a doctor, but he not badly injured.  
> (see end notes for a more detailed description of their injury)
> 
> This takes place about 3-4 months after the events of _Only In Your Blood_

Neal hadn’t intended to hire a new employee at the bakery. He’d recently expanded the bakery into the shop next to it, hired a pâtissier, added an espresso machine that he still couldn’t make work, and expanded their catering menu, from a few products to both their full shop menu and a fancier menu specifically for weddings and other fancy events. Stark Industries was one of their best customers, followed by Burke Premier Events, and they had a lot of events that Neal wanted to cater for. Just cakes, cookies, yeast breads, and quick breads wouldn’t be enough, not with other bakeries offering full menus of fancy pastries. 

He regularly brought boxes of the new menu items to 107 tattoos and to the White Collar offices, for people to try. Some new items were complete hits, others weren’t as much, and he made sure to send back comments and suggestions to the bakers. He was hoping to offer coffee and maybe a small sitting area, but he still couldn’t get the espresso machine to work, which was rather crucial to putting coffee on his menu.

So, no, there was not a ‘help wanted’ sign in the bakery window when he offered Scott the job. It had been a spur of the moment offer, one made after Scott bandaged his hand with care and then proceeded to fix whatever was wrong with the thrice-bedamned espresso machine, and made Neal a perfect latte, hands moving smoothly across the machine, even as he talked to it. 

Neal’s day had started with his usual subway ride from Bucky’s apartment over 107 Tattoos in Brooklyn to Manhattan, where he got The Greatest Cake bakery open and ready for the early rush. He didn’t always work the early shift, preferring to work the lunch rush and close the bakery down at night instead of opening and working the pre-coffee and breakfast rush. Working the later shifts also meant that his work shifts aligned better with Bucky, who’s tattoo parlor didn’t open until 10 AM, but stayed open until at least 9 at night. 

Neal spent most of the early rush selling bagels and muffins, and answering all the questions about the espresso machine and would he have coffee at some point soon, and collapsed onto the stool behind the counter once the rush was over. He spent a few minutes relaxing, before giving the espresso machine an inquisitive look. He was working on it, attempting to figure out why it wasn’t making drinkable coffee - the grinder was working, the steamer wand was working and the heating elements were working - but the coffee was coming out far too bitter and, oddly, salty. He’d tried everything in the manual that came with the machine, and even a few tricks he’d seen in forums or remembered from safecracking. He was grumbling to the machine, not quite watching his hands as he tried to get the grounds into the filter and make yet another ruined shot of espresso, when the chime over the door startled him. 

Thinking back on what happened, he cursed his reflexes. He’d cracked safes with the feds or the murderous owner of the safe minutes from catching him in the act. He’d forged incredibly breakable objects and perfectly aged paintings. He’d based-jumped from the top of a Manhattan skyscraper, and once flung himself from a judges chambers onto the very awning outside his bakery. Hell, he’d let Bucky take a needle to his skin and permanently tattoo him! But, distracted by the espresso machine, he flinched when the door chimes chimed as the door opened. 

Under normal circumstances, it wouldn’t have been an issue, his slight flinch, his hands not moving enough to change a brushstroke in a forged painting. Except, the espresso machine had it in for him, and the basket he’d been wrestling into the portafilter bit, pinching the fingers of his left hand between the edge of the basket and either the spring or the edge of the filter. He’d jumped, attempted to pop the basket from the filter, and wasn’t sure exactly what happened next, his memories tinged with the pain from his sensitive fingers. He could hear himself cursing up a storm in multiple languages, and hoped whoever had entered his shop wasn’t the health inspector. 

It turned out to be Scott Lang, recently released from prison and required by his parole officer to find a job in the next two weeks or lose visitation rights to his daughter. Scott had hopped behind the counter, popped the filter basket from the filter to free Neal’s fingers, and sat Neal down on the stool, before digging the first aid kit out from under the counter and expertly cleaning and bandaging Neal’s fingers. Scott had kept up a string of commentary about the espresso machine, apparently loving it, before asking if he could have a look at it. Neal had nodded dumbly, and watched as Scott has sweet-talked his reticent espresso maker (and resident pain in Neal’s hands) into making a perfect shot of espresso, before steaming milk from the refrigerator under the counter, and presenting Neal with a perfect latte, complete with a foam art leaf. The job offer was out of Neal’s mouth before he’d gotten the man’s name.

The rest of the morning was taken up with Neal officially hiring Scott - references, the contact information for his parole officer, social security number, getting his background check started, and letting him know that _everyone_ in the bakery had a record (Neal had a note by the ‘have you ever been convicted of, or pled guilty to, a felony’ question on the job application saying that The Greatest Cake was a second-chance bakery), even him. Neal told Scott that his hiring was contingent on him not having been charged with a violent crime, and had Scott walk him through the espresso machine as many times as Scott was willing to, taking care to keep his bandaged and gloved left hand as far away from the machine as he could. 

They talked about their backgrounds, Neal having been a Confidential Informant for the FBI on a work-release program after being convicted of bond forgery and escaping from prison. Scott was a burglar, breaking into places and stealing things, who wanted to, maybe, one day, open his own company, one that specializes in security, putting the skills he’d picked up as a thief to use. Neal learned that Scott had never been a barista, but had worked in a kitchen while getting his masters in mechanical engineering, and had been the only person on staff capable of making the espresso machine work. 

His explanation for why he’d been able to make the espresso machine work had been convoluted and tangential, though not as much as one of his character references, who somehow managed to bring a visit to a wine tasting into whether or not Scott would be a good employee at the bakery. His first call had been to Scott’s parole officer, who’d seemed surprised that anyone was willing to offer Scott a job and made sure that Neal knew exactly what Scott had done to end up in prison. It was then that Neal lost his temper, snapping that he’d been in prison himself. Scott, who’d been manning the front counter under the watchful eye of one of Neal’s bakers while Neal made the necessary phone calls had made an excited sound and had jumped on Neal when he’d come out of his office. 

“You’re Neal Caffrey! The Neal Caffrey!” Scott seemed awestruck. “I can’t believe I didn’t realize it was really you. You’re something of a legend for people like me. You know… cat burglars. I heard about the plane, by the way, that sucks, sorry about that, but wow! The Antioch manuscripts? Forging unforgeable bonds? The Music box? Saint George and the Dragon, the McNally Solitaire, the map of Vinland… I’ve only heard half of what you’ve allegedly done, and it’s… it’s impressive. Escaping a supermax to rescue your girlfriend, rappelling down a consulate, leaping from a judge’s chambers, base-jumping from a building in Manhattan, hundreds of other crimes that aren’t as flamboyant but just as fascinating!” Scott trailed off and looked surprised at himself. 

“That’s not usually what people say when then remember that they’ve seen my picture on a wanted poster,” Neal had said, hiding a smile. He knew he and Scott would get along wonderfully, assuming he could get Scott to settle down a bit, which he did, though it took an hour. When he left (Neal couldn’t legally let him work before hiring him and his background check hadn’t come back yet), Neal called Dr. Banner to have a look at his fingers. Since being enserumized, Neal saw Dr. Banner monthly for blood draws, and after any injury that drew blood. Banner cautioned him to make sure he’d destroyed the spilled blood and any tissues or towels used to clean it up, and to come and see him as soon as he could. 

After texting the other person who worked the front counter and getting them to come in early (he’d offered overtime pay and a day off later in the month), Neal left, with 6 bakery boxes of pastries, and a bag with the rag with his blood on it. One could not be too careful with blood containing the Banner-Erskine Serum, even if it had been spilled by accident. He always brought Dr. Banner something from the bakery when he came in for an unscheduled appointment, and Tony Stark had gotten upset when he learned that Neal brought treats for Banner but not him. 

After Dr. Banner examined his hand, complimented the person who bandaged him up, took a blood sample, and rebandaged his hand, Neal handed over his treats, and took the subway back to Brooklyn. His phone dinged on the way there, informing him that Scott’s background check had cleared and he could start as soon as he wanted to. Neal smiled, pleased with himself. Despite his early morning, despite hurting himself on the coffee maker, he’d had a good day at the bakery and was looking forward to working with Scott.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Neal pinches his fingers the between the portafilter and portafilter basket of his espresso machine, bad enough to bleed. Scott bandages him up, and he ends up going to see Dr. Banner to make sure that this didn't change the Serum in his blood. He takes the bloody towel with him to be incinerated.


End file.
